


Snow and Ashes

by bluetoast



Series: Fae Verse [1]
Category: Original Work, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 14:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2585246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gabriel switched places with Loki, both of them forgot about securing the safety of Loki's son with Sif, Ullr. Four centuries later, Gabriel returns to rectify his mistake, just as he will in every reality, switching the Norse god with a fae who was fatally injured in a hunting accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow and Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> While considered part of the Fae Verse, this story is also tied to characters and events in 'Thirteen Harvests'

The air smelled of snow and ash, of distant fires and fresh cut pine. The wind was not hard, although cold, a breeze that soared through the bare branches, a whisper against skin. Above him, the stars and the snow mixed together to the point where he could not tell one from the other. He wasn't cold, he wasn't afraid, and everything seemed rather – muddled. Something soft was around his face, a fur of some kind, and he slowly clenched his fists in the woolen mittens on his hands, followed by curling his toes in his boots – while he could feel them both, the clothing felt; wrong. As if he had been wrapped up in heavy winter garments and then tossed into the snow, as if he were a babe who had fallen from a sledge. He was certain he wasn't a child, he knew that. However, it was hard to remember other common things, such as his name, where he was, what he had for breakfast. The man wasn't certain of a lot of things, but others, he could clearly remember – the taste of honey, for example. 

There was an almost inaudible crunch of snow as footsteps approached him, and the man wished he could move. He could sense some form of weapon, or stick, just out of his grasp on his left side and then a face appeared above him. For a moment, the man seemed familiar, sharp nose and cheekbones, gleaming green eyes; then his hair faded to brown, the eyes dulled to hazel. “I promised I would get you out.” He crouched down and the man touched his side, and then there was pain. Sharp and burning – wicked and deep. How had he not noticed the iron scent of blood?

“Out of where?” He frowned at the sound of his own unfamiliar voice, the last word cracking as the wound in his side, somewhere in his ribcage, throbbed and ebbed. 

“The place where you grew up.” The man's face focused on his, his expression sad. “It's bad business, my boy. Almost everyone is gone. Those that remain have fled.” 

“Who?” He coughed and struggled to sit, only to have the man's hand fall on his shoulder, keeping him down. “Why?”

“I confess, in my haste to save Loki and Sigyn several centuries ago, I forgot about you. Perhaps they forgot too – but that is done and we must move on and we do not have much time.” The world went hazy for a moment, and then they were in another place; the smell of ash was gone, and the stars – the stars looked wrong. 

“Who are you?” He would at least get that question answered.

“My name is Gabriel. You won't remember this later, not until the time is right.” He sighed. “It is time for you to sleep now, Ullr. When you wake, you will remember nothing of your true past. You won't even know the past you remember in the morning is not yours. Nor will anyone else.” A hand turned his chin and he looked back up into that rather unremarkable face. “This will always happen, Ullr. I will bring you here in reality after reality, but what happens next is up to you.” 

“I do not understand.” The desire to sleep was starting to outweigh his need for answers.

“You will, some day.” Gabriel sighed and set a hand on his eyes and the world went dark.

*  
Lavender and linen were the first things he sensed before he opened his eyes. He was lying in a soft, comfortable bed, the blankets and bedclothes were piled on him, keeping him safe and warm. He smoothed out the sheet under him, stretching out to discover he was most likely in the center, owing to he could not touch the sides with his arms fully outstretched and his feet did not reach the edge of the mattress either. He pulled his arms towards him, frowning at the slight soreness in his back, but it was negligible. There was also a dull pain in his ribcage and a rather tight feeling around his chest. Of course they were, he mused as a few details came back to him. He had been hunting and he'd been gored by a boar. He had bandages around his middle, and no wonder he was lying in bed. He'd been struck by the boar and then he'd fallen; that was where the pain in the back came from. How had he gotten home? Was he home? 

He opened his eyes and saw the elaborately embroidered canopy above him; large flowers the color of crimson with vines the color of the summer sky, worked on a background in a shade of rust. Rather regal looking flowers, oddly, he couldn't remember what sort of – no, they were hydrangeas. Somewhere near him was a vase full of blooms as well – he could smell them clearly; some kind of lily. 

He coughed once and then moved his feet, assessing the rest of his body. Although the mattress he was lying on was soft enough that he was certain he was half sunk in it and the effort to rise from it would take more energy than he could currently summon. He flexed his hands and lifted one into view, it looked – it didn't look like his hand.

What utter nonsense, of course it was his hand, whose else could it be?

A new feeling washed over him, taking away his concern over the oddness of his hand – hunger. When had he last eaten? How long had he been bed ridden?

There was a soft click of a door latch and he turned towards the noise in time to see a lithe woman with pale blond hair garbed in a dark red tunic opened the door, rather hesitantly, before coming into the room and placing a tray on a table. Her footsteps were almost inaudible and a faint scent of some kind of broth drifted his way, making his stomach rumble. He watched her approach, she was unfamiliar to him, just like most everything was. When her face appeared above him, he could see that her eyes were a vibrant shade of purple. 

“M'lord, you're awake!” Her face broke into a wide grin. “At last!”

“How... how long?” It seemed the only logical question at the moment.

“Six days.” She tucked the covers around him, as if he were a little boy. “We were all so worried.”

He reached up with his hand and rubbed his eyes, a few details returning to him. “I do not remember how I got home.” He frowned. “I am home, yes?”

“Yes, m'lord.” The girl replied. “His majesty's guards brought you back after the hunting accident. You were gravely injured.” She bit her lip. “Shall I send for Ehar? He is expected later this afternoon, but if he learns you are awake, he will make haste and be here within an hour.” 

“Ehar,” the name sounded foreign to him for a mere moment and then he remembered; that was the name of his personal healer. “Yes, please send for him...” He gave the girl a look, frowning. “What is your name again?”

“Hirka, my lord.” She frowned, a look of worry crossing her face. “I've worked here for the past two decades. Is something wrong?”

“I am not certain – I fear I may have injured my head.” That could explain why so many things were hard to recall at the moment. 

She gave him a sympathetic look. “It is all right, my lord. I suspect that not having eaten for several days may also be playing a factor.”

He nodded and lifted his chin towards the door and the almost forgotten tray. “Food would help.” 

*

The wound healed slowly, but it would heal, that was the important thing. Even now, two months after the accident, there was still a slight pain in his ribs if he stood for too long. Straightening his shoulders as the couple arrived with their newborn son and boy's older sister almost right in her parent's shadow, another one of those odd feelings he had on occasion settled over him. The feeling that while this was hardly the first naming ceremony he had attended in Oberon's palace, it felt like the first. Shaking the notion off, he took a glass of wine from the tray of a passing servant.

“Lord Orrick.” A voice said from his left and he turned. 

“Lady Hara.” He gave the woman a slight smile, rather surprised that Queen Titania had allowed one of her husband's flings to attend this event. Then again, her majesty would rather her husband sport and impregnate other fae and leave her alone to handling tasks other than childbearing – the royal couple had five children, and were expecting their first grandchild soon. 

“It is good to see you out and about.” She gave him a smile that he didn't like, but chose to ignore.

“I was not going to miss this event, it is not every day that there is a naming ceremony for a prince.” He wondered if she understood the insult and he glanced down at the small boy clinging to his mother. “And good morning to you, Peltar.” 

In response, the small fae boy with bright violet eyes stuck his tongue out at him – and Orrick wasn't surprised at the lack of reprimand from his mother. 

“I must be going.” He walked away from the woman, heading over to see the new baby in the royal family, King Oberon's nephew, Kelsen.


End file.
